The Scent of the Full Moon

By Paul Gouda

Powerfully phrased, elegantly structured and uniquely presented. This book constitutes a new era in the evolution of poetry. It is a great contribution to the global recognition of Canadian literature. A reference against which poetry will be measured.

- K. Cohien, Editor

The depth of the exceptionally rich imagery in this book, and the stunning use of the language promise a very successful and enjoyable book. Though no great poet in history was fully and truly appreciated in his days, if not sooner - it may only take the next generations library to crown the author the unsurpassed poet of all times. It is an honor to introduce this book.

- W. S. Martin, M.A. Author.

Having dazzled the imagination of poetry with his previous book Intoxicated Emotions Paul Gouda in The scent of the full moon has written his name in history with the very few elite giants of recorded literature. Having taught advanced literature at graduate level for 18 years, I believe I am qualified to make this very bold statement: This book has confidently earned its place within the unique category of the greatest literature ever written.. This is not a statement anyone would make lightly. I am confident that history will prove this testimonial to be true. Brilliant material.

- Timothy Bucha, Ph.D. Th.D.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475931792

Paul Gouda

Dr. Paul Gouda is an Analytical Chemist, and a Pharmacology – medical Research Scientist who wrote several analytical chemistry and medical textbooks. While serving as a head chemist, he enjoyed his love for literature, joining an evening programme at a local university long enough to acquire another degree, this lime in literature. Being a scholar with two unrelated doctorates, and with a taste for philosophical poetry , is evident in his creative writing style. He is a published poet and is the 2011 Global WPS’ Best Poet Award recipient. His books, in science and literature, can be accessed at www.GoudaBooks.com His work in science is equally impressive, with several analytical methods that were developed by him, and were adopted by the national agencies who named the methods after him. This includes his work in environmental chemical ultra-trace analysis, his research in chemical manipulation of hormonal compounds for pharmacology use, and his medical paper on gender selection, “Choosing the sex of you baby.” … For the past two decades, he lived with his only son, Pelé – whom he had raised as a single father until recently when the cycle of life introduced the inevitable, his son leaving home for college, and for his independence. Paul now lives on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, as a semi-retired single man, enjoying writing, and the occasional lecture or consultation. Dr. Gouda welcomes your correspondence, whether for literature-related, or science-related events and discussions. He can be reached at: [e-mail] [e-mail] [e-mail]

Book preview

Fragments of an attempted love

The diary paper is staring at me with perplexity.

No pen seemed to have

pressed scars in this sheet.

No eraser made blurs.

The little thoughts that often fretted me

... were not there.

And my battle against lust,

the nights I attempted to chasten and subdue,

to elevate thoughts beyond a feeling

for more deeply interfused,

... were not there.

The flower of cardamom in my coffee,

when I wrote what I wrote,

... was never there.

Desultory alleys of the town

I walked at night in confusion,

were no longer on the town map.

All the things I wanted to forget,

hissing embers,

passion dwindles,

joy declines.

What happened? I wondered!

The explanation of this conundrum

must be heard.

The punishment of a dream

awakened to retire into the tent

of a wounded pride.

Her love,

her face,

her emotions,

were as inscrutable

as my diary paper.

And past midnight,

hoping against hope,

I mourned no more the lonesome tears,

that left no echo of their fall.

What happened you ask!?

too many guards in the hallway

outside your bedroom door.

Your people planted mines

between our fences.

The evil dove, my dear,

hated the olive tree.

We were a soul with no inception,

no Egyptian